“I did a little figuring and…” She launched into her sales pitch.
I fought a losing battle from there on.
Of course I had always wanted to go into space. What boy who became a man didn’t. Never mind the deaths that resulted with the collapse of the space elevator, or the fact that no more glamorous sci-fi shows ever graced the 3V broadcasts any more. Most kids of the male persuasion dream of going into space.
It’s just that I had never expected to really do it. And especially not in an old van. But the more Nikki talked, the more enthused I got, perhaps proving that insanity is contagious. But the truth be told, I had toyed with the idea of a space ship propelled by the rods when they’d first been perfected; I just hadn’t expected to be using a van to travel into space rather than a nice sleek conventional space ship.
Nikki explained to me that the time was perfect, too. The world government had, without fanfare, closed the few moon bases that had been put on the moon, and liquidated the surplus gear left over from the space program almost faster than consumers could buy it. In fact all the rocket jocks she’d known had been buying all sorts of hardware and toys, while bemoaning the fact that the space program was all but officially dead. So, Nikki reasoned, we could probably outfit our expedition for just centimes on the dollar.
Slowly she wove her spell the way a spider weaves a web. Before I knew it, I was trapped and we were off in the van to buy some used space suits.
After crashing through the scrub brush for a while, and making low flights that—I hoped—
were off the radar, we finally located a road that led to a highway. I parked the van at the first electro-charge station (hoping the attendant wouldn’t become too curious as to why the van didn’t need to be charged) and found out we were on Galveston Island. Using an Internet map we bought from the attendant, along with a phone book disc, we finally found the name of a nearby surplus dealer which—we hoped—might lead us to a source of the gear we’d be needing.
Several hours later, and despite the errors on the map, we finally located the surplus store at Hitchcock, west of Galveston.
As we neared it, it became apparent that the store was once a huge old barn. Crates and old freight trucks littered the area around it. A chain-link fence enclosed the cemetery-like area around the barn where—it appeared —all vehicles in the area crawled to when it came time for them to die. With a bit of originality, the owner had painted, in huge amateur-looking letters,
“Space and Military Surplus” over the chipped, red paint of the wooden structure.
We brought the van to a stop in front of the huge eyesore. No other working vehicles were in the customer parking lot. The hot, Texas wind pummeled sand against the side of the van.
“Are you sure we want to go in?” I asked.
“Yes!”
“Assuming we find anything of use, what are we going to pay for things with? I chucked my card outside New Denver.”
“I’ve got some jewelry.”
“That’s not cash”
“These guys like to barter. Anything else we could trade?”
“I hate to drag a needle gun in—might give the owner a heart attack. How about your laser?
Industrial lasers get good prices.”
“Sounds good. I have no attachment to it.”
“It still ought to get us a lot.
We got out of the van and sauntered toward the gate. I squinted at Nikki in the bright sunlight. She looked so different with her blond hair and the synthaface.
“What are you smiling at?” Nikki asked. “You look like you know something I should know about.”
“You don’t look like Nikki any more. I was just thinking I liked the way you looked better
“Well, I like you better the way you are
I chased her to the barn door; both of us were giggling like teenagers as we pulled it open and stepped into the cool darkness of the interior of the building. Once in, we grew quiet.
It was like a museum.
I couldn’t believe what all was there. Spotlights, hung in the ceiling, cut through the gloom with beams that caught the dust particles in the air and bathed equipment on the floor in pools of light. Other piles of machinery sat hidden in the dark and under dust tarps looking like large animals waiting for their prey. The contrast between the highly lit areas and those in darkness made it necessary to study what you were looking at before your mind could make any sense of the jumble.
Large bins holding small parts spread out along one unpainted wall in a haphazard manner while space suits of various designs hung down the back of the mammoth room like a long line of alien soldiers. An ancient space capsule was suspended from the rafters of the barn and slowly turned in the cool breeze of an air conditioning duct that was bolted to the ceiling. In one dusty corner, a convention of space-bots stood frozen as if waiting for a command to get to work.
“Help you folks,” a voice that made us both jump called out of the gloom.
We turned to see a beefy-looking man with black whiskers shuffle into the light. Dressed in dirty white space overalls with a vintage NASA baseball cap, he bumped and dragged on a pair of crutches as he came toward us. One leg seemed to be paralyzed and scraped along behind him as he approached. The twisted member looked out of place on his otherwise perfect, muscular body.
“We need some gear,” I said. “Is any of this operational?” I asked, pointing to a space suit.
“Most isn’t. Some is. All looks good, though. Unless you’re needing it for a project of some sort, you can save a bundle by buying things that are just lookers.” He laughed. “Guess I’m talking myself out of some money, here.”
“We need equipment that’s functional. For…experimental work,” I said, trying to be as vague as possible. Not that he would believe that we were about to fly to the moon in a van. I just didn’t want to tell the truth and have him call the loony bin.
Nikki pulled her list out of the hip pocket of her green coveralls and handed it to him, “We’re interested in these. Do you have any of this stuff.”
He took the list, pushed back his cap, and read as he balanced his weight on his crutches. I walked away from him to inspect some of the space suits more closely, wondering where I had seen his face before? The bum leg suddenly jarred a memory: A supply ship that had fallen into the moon. One man rescued the survivors in a heroic effort that cost him the use of his leg and later his career. The black beard and athletic frame… There was no doubt in my mind. Jake Jozek.
“Big Jake.”
Or was it. I walked back to Nikki’s side.
He gave us an odd look.” I think I’ve got most of this. You folks planning on going to Mars or something?”
Obviously he knew his business. Neither Nikki nor I knew what to say.
He went on, “You know, I’ve been in space. Even on the moon once. You folks have something pretty specific in mind. It’s none of my business but—”
“Big Jake Jozek?” I asked, desperately trying to change the subject.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Didn’t know anyone still remembered. Anyway… I think we can work something out, here. Come on back to where I keep the good stuff.”
We followed him as he scraped and dragged himself across the concrete floor toward a small door at the back of the barn. “Didn’t know anyone still remembered me,” he said. “They just brought me back, pinned a medal on me, and that was that. Now, they’re dismantling everything.
We should be going to the planets… Instead the fools are abandoning the Moon. Just when Earth needs other resources, they’re quitting.” He turned and smiled, “Please ignore the rantings of an old fanatic.”
. I tried to smile reassuringly so he wouldn’t jack up his prices. Nikki said nothing He paused before the door, took out a magnetic key, unlocked the padlock, and pushed the door open. The hinges gave a high-pitched squeak
